You can always go home again. Content warnings: Depiction of Death or Terminal Illness
Circling the drain, vultures at the roadside
I came back too –
slotted into the curve of my mattress, ingrown
Sunlight through the thin high window
Heated condensation clinging and easing off the glass
I watch the shadows bloom and wilt on the wall,
From my bed the operating table
A theater prepped to slice this malaise from my gut
I grew it within me since this reunion
it lines my stomach, tumorous eggs
Every month a weeping clot
Something from me but not mine
Glints wet, honeyed and twitching
Black under my fingernails, stains the mattress
You can always go home again
About the Author
Lauren Punales writes from St. Petersburg. Her poetry appears in the Live Poets Society’s My World Anthology, Cypress Dome, and elsewhere.